


in another lie

by trashemdudes



Category: The Get Down (TV)
Genre: Asexuality, M/M, Shao really doesn't like Mylene, mentions of Annie's abusive treatment of Shao
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-13
Updated: 2017-07-13
Packaged: 2018-12-01 14:36:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11488413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trashemdudes/pseuds/trashemdudes
Summary: In which, Shaolin Fantastic dreams about something better. Something like Books.





	in another lie

_Shao’s high, and he’s fucking flying._

 

Shao has his hand wrapped around Zeke, the pulsing hot heat weighing against his hand, and he’s never really thought about it, noticed, but the skin there is really soft.

He’s somehow snapping in and out of reality, only drawn back by Zeke’s heat.

Zeke had let his head fall back of Shao’s shoulder panting, the warmth of him between Shao’s legs, his back against Shao’s chest is exactly as it should be. Shao’s playing the music with his hand, supporting Zeke from the back, and Zeke is making music with his mouth; they have a rhythm.

But that’s the usual, that’s what is; it’s truth.

“Shao, God, fuck.” He lisps a bit on the f, his voice rough, low and lazy.

“Yea, Books?” Shao asks, low, a tentative curve to his lips.

“I fuck-” Zeke pants, curling in on himself now.

Shao speeds up his hand and moves his other hand from Zeke’s thigh to slide up to his stomach and gently rub circles there, Zeke’s body shudders at that, and Shao can feel the stirrings in the pit of his own stomach, there but not quite.

Zeke lets out a low moan and spills over Shao’s hand, and the fluid warmth spilling over Shao’s hand feels right. It’s the liquid fire that Shao has on stage, the one shared between the DJ and his wordsmith. The burn in his overstretched fingers after spinning records for hours and hours.

“Oh,” Zeke moans, slowly uncurling, his breath still uneven.

“You ok?” Shao asks, knowing he should be getting up, separating from Zeke, but he knows that when he does, his chest, thighs, arms, everywhere where Zeke is connected to him now, is going to feel like ice.

He leans in a little closer when he doesn’t get a response to ask it in Zeke’s ear. Zeke jumps a little at his low, even voice.

“Yeah-yea,” Zeke mumbles, half dazed, his hand on Shao’s wrist as he struggles to get up with his pants loose. “I-”

They both get up, Shao letting Zeke do it on his own and when they look at each other, Zeke’s still out of it, his mouth parted. He’s frowning a little.

Shao glances down to his hand and the semen dripping from it, and when he looks up, he sees that Zeke’s followed his line of sight and is flushing. He hasn’t noticed though; he hasn’t tucked himself in, and Shao can still feel the velvety skin in his hand.

He doesn’t want to take girls out to movies and popcorn.

“I-” Zeke stutters, finally getting some of his voice back. He just flushes more, still stammering for words as he tucks himself away, wrapping his arms around himself even as his hands still gesture. He’s awkward and lanky and emotional, and he makes rhymes like Shao’s never heard before.

His eyes keep on coming back to Shao’s dirty hand.

Shao can feel the usual calm over himself, his voice going monotone like it shouldn’t with Books, “Hey, Books, chill, it was just a handjob.”

“Yea, I-”

Shao can predict his wordsmith’s next words.

“I gotta go.” Zeke takes his bag, grabbing his notebook that he usually tucked in the back of his jeans, and leaves to go beg for his butterscotch queen’s forgiveness because of another petty fight. The notebook, Shao notes, must’ve fallen out when he’d unbuckled Zeke’s belt and unbuttoned his pants; he hadn’t noticed that it’d fallen.

Shao wipes his nose with his sleeve and goes to wash his hands.

He’ll go read Zeke’s college essay about him again and then go do a drop off for Fat Annie.

 

“You like that, huh?” Shao jerks his chin at her. “You like her and her pretty little issues and the fact that she don’t give a shit about what you care about. You think her voice is velvet? Well tell me, Books, what she think bout yours?”

Books looks like he wants to deck Shao, his slim shoulders tensing, and Shao wants to see that.

“Even if her voice ain’t nothing, guess she does got an ass that can’t quit,” Shao sneers.

“Quittin? You wanna talk about quittin?” Books grabs Shao’s shirt collar. “Shaolin Fantastic, huh? Fucking Shaolin Fantastic can’t even fucking quit what he _wants_ to quit.”

Books shoves him, nearly spitting as he finishes his words. He keeps his eyes on Shao, and Shao feels something run up his spine. He could slam him up against a wall and listen to him go breathless and his body go still for Shao. He can see it, Books’ angry determination, feel Books’ heated breath against his.

“-ou listening to me, Shao? You listenin to me?” Books demands.

“No,” Shao says, lighting some rolled up weed. “I ain’t listenin to your bullshit.”

Books decks him.

Shaolin decks him back.

And Mylene, _Mylene_ the Butterscotch _Bitch_ , comes and stops them, holding Books’ protectively in her arms after she finishes yelling in that nasally, rhythmless voice.

Shao nearly lights a cig and presses it to her pretty face. He wonders how much she’d sell then if she was a little less pretty.

 

He’s angry.

 

Shao has always done what he needs to do. He doesn't back down. He's not kind, but he's loyal and honest to the music and to his get down brothers.

 

She doesn't know a fucking thing about him.

 

Not about his music or his world or his Books. Because he's his. He's the one who gave Zeke his electricity. He's the one Zeke's building a kingdom with. Shao is the one who gets things done the way they should be.

 

He’s angry.

Angry enough that he knows he’s justified. Angry enough that his hands don’t shake, and his mind doesn’t hesitate. Shao had always tried, lied, acted dignified.

And Annie...Annie....

His pride has always been in his ability to survive.

“I’m leaving, Annie,” and Shao shoots her in the head, shoves her body into the trunk of a car and pushes it into the harbor in the night. He watches the car sink all by himself, his own secret, as he makes a promise to himself. He’ll do better than survive this time around. 

 

He and Books will do better.

 

Shao herds an angry Zeke to the side and jostles him gently between his arms, Zeke pressed against the wall, Shao staring up at his face and his slightly flaring nostrils. Shao grabs Zeke’s cheek, and he kisses him, long and deep. Kisses him like it’s making love.

Books kisses back almost immediately, even if it’s slowly, but it takes a lot longer for him to grab Shao’s shirt and dig his fingers in. But once he does, he holds on like he’s drowning.

 

“Shaolin’s the DJ that we call conductor because Shaolin Fantastic’s a bad motherfucker.” Zeke says it, his voice rough from use,  while running his fingers over Shaolin’s bare chest.

Books, no joke, breaks down into little breathless, jerking laughs after he says it as he shifts from his side onto his back.

“What you laughing at, Books?” Shaolin asks lazily, the back of his hand slapping Books lightly on the chest. They’re both sweat soaked, staying late after Boo-Boo, Ra-Ra, and Dizzee’d gone back to their parents. The sunlight is a deep orange flooding the room, and turning Books, with his loose, lanky limbs and afro ...transcendent.

Shao’d heard that word used from people coming outta church before. Transcendent, yeah, is the right word. A real word.

“Nothin,” Books slurs, grinning. “Jus you.”

 

“M’not g-” Zeke says it in that way that he does when he’s filled with regret and indecision and anger that he feels that way. He’s talking rushed and breathy, hands gesturing emptily. “Shao, I _want_ you to be-”

And Books doesn’t say it even though he has the power of the words. It’s like he doesn’t even know.

Shao wants him to say, _I want you to be my man_ , but they’re two guys, and only girls say that kind of thing. But Books could say it and make it sound good, forget if he’s a girl or a guy.

Instead, he leans in, and Shao makes his expression empty, and their noses bump as their breaths mingle. Hot and damp as they gravitate towards each other, always seeming like they’ll miss. He’ll taste like salt, Shao  thinks, not like Annie, sour and bitter on his tongue, the rich, heavy scent of her perfume too much. He hopes it’ll linger like Annie’s always did.

Zeke closes his eyes, eyelashes fine and dark.

When Zeke kisses Shao, Shao wonders if this is what family is like. If they make you feel safe.

Shao had a mother and a brother, ones he never wanted to choose, and Shao thinks that he doesn’t need a mother, father, siblings, a pet, no shit like that. He just wants Books.

He just wants this room, tricked out with all his records and worn couches and rugs and the DJ system they’d stolen from Les Inferno, sunlight streaming in until it’s just the slightest bit humid, and Shao could stick his tongue out to lap up Zeke’s sweat at the back of his neck, drink him in, sweet and smart and completely over the moon.

 

Books don’t talk about Mylene no more.

He don’t look out of the Bronx anymore.

 

“You’re -you’re not getting...” Zeke says, looking lost and nervous even as he’s trying to play it cool.

Shao just finally takes Zeke’s hand away, and realizes that somewhere along the way, he might’ve lost the high in it. He doesn’t want to fuck Zeke into the bed, doesn’t want to let Zeke do that to him. But he doesn’t want to hold hands, do those pretty little kisses Zeke and his diva did either. He just wants to play his records with Zeke shooting out rhymes, and he just wants to trace his fingers over Zeke’s bare chest, over all his bare skin while they’re lying in bed under the sun, feeling for the beat, the get down, that’s under Zeke’s skin.

Shao’s always had an ear for music. Grandmaster Flash never would’ve taken him on if he hadn’t, so Shao knows. Book’s the best music of them all.

He wants to drink Books in and keep him there. He leans over, body propped up on one arm, to say, “Hey, hey, Books, it’s fine. Don’t need that. Just need you.”

Books would do that little thing, maybe that little smile, talk low and sexy, say, “Don’t need nothing but you either, Shao.”

 

Zeke is doing that little thing again, that thing where’s he too happy to speak. He wipes his mouth with hand and grins, his voice more accented as he says, lighting up, “We were _fucking_ amazing _._ Did you feel that? I felt that.” He thumps his hand to his chest a few times to emphasize it and then points at Shao very seriously, grinning. “That’s magic. You’re magic.”

“ _Shao_ lin _Fan_ tastic,” Zeke says, slapping Shao on the back.

“Good, yea?” Shao says, trying to play it cool to impress Books.

Books just grins, whoops, running forward into the nighttime and jumping to let out a yell. “It was fucking amazing.”

Shao gives up the facade and runs after Zeke, grinning as he tackles his best friend, his wordsmith, what’s _his_ , _Shao’s_ , and presses his face into his neck as he gives him, and gets in return, a warm, tight hug. When the separate again, both of them are grinning like mad, their hands searching out for each other for their usual handshake. They finish it but don’t let go, their grips on each other’s hands firm.

They’re not holding hands in the way that couples do. They’re holding it the way they do, just for a moment, just to somehow make the connection between them become solid and visible when there’s no records or mic. Shao doesn’t need to hold Zeke’s hand, and Zeke doesn’t need to hold his. They already have each other anyway, every way, always. And they can always find each other in the darkness.

They just follow the sound of the get down.

 

_Shao’s high. Higher than ever, and he jumps over a gap between buildings, his pumas pristine, dropping and rolling for the landing. He can hear the get down in his veins as he moves, and it’s loud, getting louder in him as he scales the buildings. He lands and goes to Annie’s, knowing, yea._

_Yeah._

_That’s what it’d be like._

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry if this is weird, but I can never tell if someone would like a reply to their comment or not. So if you do comment, and want a response, put an @ at the beginning!


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